Devil's Night
by MissScorp
Summary: The Scarecrow terrorizes Gotham by releasing a toxin bomb that fills the city with fear gas. However, his true objective is to get his hands on a young girl who can obtain for him the notes on a powerful neurotoxin that would revolutionize his research on fear. T for comic level violence, suggestive language, and themes. *Complete*
1. Let the fun begin

**Gotham, Burnley District**

 _Devil's Night_.

It was a night many cities around the world absolutely feared because of the higher levels of disordered mayhem and violent bouts of pandemonium that commonly erupted. Ah, but Gotham wasn't afraid of the things that _might_ happen. Oh, no, the city wasn't afraid at all. Why should it be afraid of what could happen when it needed to worry about what _was_ happening?

The good people of Detroit made the night something worthy of being feared. Acts of minor vandalism, dozens upon dozens of fires, random acts of violence, and other pranks were all considered the standard affair in many cities on October 30th. Ah, but they weren't the standard affair in Gotham. No, those violent and shameful acts were common occurrences in Gotham.

Every day was Devil's Night in Gotham.

The élite class of super villains who dwelled in Gotham made _chaos_ and _anarchy_ the _crime du jour_. Every day-week-month brought the citizens of this city some fresh horror. Every second-minute-hour was some sort of new nightmare. Devil's Night was simply nothing more than another trauma on top of decades upon decades of much worse ones.

When you had people with names like Two-Face, Riddler, Penguin, Poison Ivy, and the Scarecrow constantly unleashing hell upon your city, there was little one had left to fear.

There was little they could do to stop these men and women from using their city to display their malcontent. Beyond surviving, of course. And pray that those who chose to serve and protect the city would keep things from falling into complete ruin.

Even the most naïve Gothamites knew, they understood that there were those in their city who were not looking for something logical, like money or power. They knew there were people out there on their streets that money simply could not buy. They knew there were people who could not be beaten into submission, reasoned or negotiated with.

And they knew there were men like the Joker.

A man who simply wanted to watch the city, and all its inhabitants, burn. At any time of the day or night, a faint hint of the Joker's high-pitched cackle could be heard echoing over Gotham's rooftops. It was a vivid reminder of how the people of this northeastern city had a monster - one even the other degenerates and criminally insane feared _-_ in white face paint and royal purple merino and ivory silk dancing around in some dark alleyway.

And that he was always laughing.

 _At them._

The night's festivities started at just after nine o'clock. Two men in blue police uniforms climbed out of a van and hurriedly unloaded several bags of plastic explosives, timed devices, and detonators from the back that they passed to the men waiting in their prison white uniforms. As one massive working unit, they started placing the bombs on the walls surrounding the grounds and the massive iron gate at the entrance.

Inside the prison known simply as Blackgate, an alarm sounded seconds before there was a _clang_ and all the cell doors slid open. Slowly, the inmates crept out, many curious about what was going on, some wary about it being some sort of trap, and others simply delighted at someone springing them from their cages. Others were already planning just how they would celebrate their sudden liberation.

Deep in the bowels of the penitentiary, a man sat in his solitary cell, laughing a deep, throaty laugh as he realized his night wasn't gonna be as boring as he initially believed. Sadly, he was not gonna be the one who was about to twist the strings of this festering cesspool just a lil' bit tighter.

Oh no.

The pleasure of that night's revelries was gonna go to someone else. Someone who possessed a little less pizazz and flare than he, admittedly, had. Ah, but it was sure gonna be a gas! He giggled at his own joke and grasped hold of the bars that covered his window. He stared out at the city that didn't yet know what its intended fate was gonna be.

Oh, but they would find out soon enough. Yes, they, along with his dear Dark Knight would soon discover just what was in store for them. He almost wished that he could see the looks on their faces when the cat was let outta the bag! Oh, yes, the night certainly was gonna be a terrifying one! His eyes glinted with his glee, and his mangled lips formed a smile that was so chilling that his arachnoid visitor quickly scurried into one lone crack in the wall.

As his high-pitched cackle echoed throughout the facility, chilling all who heard it, the rest of the inmates slowly made their way out into the exercise yard. Some were in groups, some chose to stand off to one side, some waited by the doors for the guards to come and return them to their cells.

All of them looked around and wondered about what was going to happen next. A few of the more daring made their way to the gates, anticipating being stopped at any minute by men in white uniforms with thick clubs, and thanking their lucky stars when nobody appeared.

A sudden, almost deafening explosion shattered the quiet less than a minute after they reached the gates. A chunk of the back wall spun across the yard and slammed against the side of the building, taking out those who unwittingly huddled against it. Dust and debris covered everyone and everything.

Visibility was non-existent for several moments. Many inmates rubbed at their eyes, trying to clear away the smoke and dirt so they could see while others checked themselves for small cuts and abrasions.

When the dust settled, they all saw the large hole blown into the wall. It was large enough that four average-sized men could easily pass through without having to scrunch together. A few, mostly those who made for the gates, ran for the hole and fled out into the dark street. The other inmates followed at a much more sedate pace.

They stepped out onto the street with a great deal more trepidation, many of them believing their newly obtained freedom was going to come with a hefty price tag attached…

…

Police Commissioner James "Jim" Gordon was in the front entry of the GCPD and talking with his longtime partner, Harvey Bullock when a sound, like that of a bomb, shattered the relative peace and quiet of the evening. Through the front windows, he saw a burst of flame shoot high into the sky. Less than a second later by great, billowing clouds of thick smoke.

"What the hell was that?" Bullock's tone was sharp with shock and dismay. "That looks like Blackgate!"

Gordon was already aware that whatever had just happened was happening at the prison. He called out orders as he raced for the exit, knowing time was of the essence here.

"Someone call Blackgate and ask what the status is."

"On it!" Someone shouted. "What else?"

"Someone go up to the roof and turn on the Batsignal! Have a feeling that we are going to need every hand tonight!"

"I'll do it, sir!" A detective by the name of Tate called as he raced up the stairs.

"Markinson, Davis, with me!" Gordon pointed at a dispatcher just arriving for their shift. "Smith, get all units out to Blackgate! Tell them full riot control!"

"Yes, Commissioner!"

"Jim!" Harvey shouted above the din. "What about the sprocket!"

"Can you take her to the Wayne Foundation for me?"

"The Wayne Foundation?" Bullock stared at Gordon in bewilderment. "Why is the sprocket staying at the Wayne Foundation and not Wayne Manor?"

"Because Bruce Wayne is staying in his penthouse while repairs are being made to Wayne Manor." Gordon glanced back at Harvey, his hand on the doorknob. "Can you take her, Harvey?"

He only faintly heard Harvey's reply as he rushed out the door. "Of course, Jim."

…

Raya Kean glanced up from her Chemistry textbook, a frown darkening her brow. _What was that_? she wondered as she turned her head to look out the dingy window of her uncle's cramped office in the GCPD. Police flashers tossed eerily dancing shadows upon the buildings as squad cars screamed out of the underground parking garage and raced down the road towards Gotham Bay.

 _They're heading towards Blackgate,_ she thought, bottle green eyes narrowing behind the lenses of the silver framed glasses she wore. _Gee_ , _do I even need to guess about who is likely staging a breakout here_? There were only so many of Gotham's elite class of villains who could pull off such a daring and ingenious escape from the supermax prison.

Bane, Crock, Black Mask… _the Joker_. And out of them all, it was the pasty-faced freak she feared getting free the most. _He caused enough damage at the Fourth of July Fireworks, Festival, and Parade_. The repairs to the boardwalk still had not been completed. Raya wondered if they ever would be at the rate things were going.

She pushed away from her uncle's desk and slowly rose to walk over and stare out at the city. Anyone with half a brain could see Gotham was about to become the stage for the most tragic of plays. Eerie words from Shakespeare's _Macbeth_ echoed through her mind and danced off her tongue.

"'Blood will have blood' _._ "

They were the most fitting of words. They perfectly described the poisonous web being spun about the city. The explosion at Blackgate was the opening act of a play being put on for the enjoyment of the criminal sect alone. It didn't take much to figure out that whichever one of Gotham's super-criminals was the mastermind behind the breakout was also the playwright of this macabre production.

 _This is the work of one of our more gifted rogues_ , she thought as a police helicopter zoomed by. Whoever it was – and she suspected one clown in particular - was an animal, barely worth considering as human for setting off a bomb intended to hurt dozens of innocent people for no reason other than their own amusement.

Ah, but if Alfred were here, he'd remind her that one of the most infamous lines from _Macbeth_ was, "'fair is foul and foul is fair'."

What it meant was that something that appeared on the outside as being something good could be something evil. _And what is evil might be something good_. Ultimately, the line referred to the culpability of the players in their chosen roles. Like most of Shakespeare's tragedies, the plot of tonight's story was one that would be dominated by lies, deceit, and betrayal. _And full of pain and suffering for a lot of players who had been unwittingly cast as extras_.

Lightning flashed and thunder crawled across the angry sky. Raya noted how appropriate the sound and lighting effects were. After all, this was the opening scene of the play. This was the start of the story. The major events needed to occur in the next few moments for the plot to unfold. The players depended upon things unraveling in the appropriate sequence so that the drama surrounding them would unfold at an appropriate rate. The...

"Hey, sprocket," a gruff voice broke into her thoughts, distracting her. "What're you doing?"

Raya turned to see Detective Harvey Bullock in the open doorway, his tan trench coat over his left arm and his very faded, but much-loved brown fedora perched atop his head. She had grown suspicious and wary of those who served in her uncle's unit after her near kidnapping by a group of rogue detectives and officers led by Matthew Branson.

Harvey Bullock and a young detective by the name of Ethan Tate were the only two in her uncle's command she knew she could trust without a shadow of doubt. Both men were on the up and up. Each served the people of Gotham to the best of their abilities, sometimes pretending to do terrible things simply because that was how _good_ a cop they both were.

"I heard the explosion." She nodded towards the window. "I was trying to see what happened."

Bullock merely grunted. "You already know what happened, kiddo."

"Yeah." Her lips twitched, curved. "Something obviously went ka-boom."

"See?" He didn't smile, but there was a slight twinkle in his eyes that revealed his amusement. "You know what happened."

"Not like things blowing up is all that unusual in Gotham."

"When things ain't blowing up is when youse need to start worrying, kiddo."

Raya couldn't disagree with his observation. Like others who _lived_ in Gotham, she knew when the city was its most _quiet_ was when it was at its most dangerous. She had learned that when she was eight. Looks were deceiving in Gotham. And the people you thought you could trust, who you thought you could go to in your hour of need, well, they could be the very people you needed the most protection from.

She once told Dick Grayson that, "In a city like Gotham, the good guys could be the bad guys. And the bad guys? Well, the bad guys are often the ones wearing the badges."

Dick hadn't believed her until he saw the crime and corruption infecting the GCPD for himself. All of Gotham was corrupt, though. Even at that very moment, there were an innumerable amount of shady deals and clandestine meetings going on in Gotham's seedy underbelly.

There were at least a half-dozen acts of violence being perpetrated behind the closed doors of homes in the Bristol District, as well as in the shadier sections of Crime Alley, Park Row, and the Diamond District. Nightclubs that hid their sleazy trade in human flesh were just now opening their doors to their _exclusive_ clientele.

Munition deals were going down at the docks, drugs sold to corporate fat cats in an innumerable amount of parking lots, and gang hits were being planned in dark alleys for _turf_.

The Falcone's and the Maroni's would be sliding envelopes stuffed full of cash to those cops on their payroll. Two-Face would be holding court in whatever underground hovel the former poster boy of Gotham could find to preside over while the Penguin would be pouring drinks and serving up some feathered beauties in his Iceberg Lounge.

Quite simply, the streets of Gotham were like a chess board. The white pieces were the Gothamites protected by their silent guardian while the black was the criminals who wanted to knock over their King and take control of the board.

"So," she said as another flash blistered the groaning sky. "Did Uncle Jim ask you to stop in and make sure that I was actually doing my homework before you join him at Blackgate?"

Bullock snorted. "He ain't ever had to lecture you about doing your homework." He tightened his grip on his fedora. "He asked me to take you to the Wayne Foundation."

Raya had suspected _home_ would be the Wayne Penthouse the moment her uncle told her to bring an overnight bag with her to the precinct. It made sense, though. Barbara was spending the night with friends so there would be nobody home. It wasn't like she minded the arrangement. Far from it. It gave her a chance to see her best friend and spend time with Alfred. _I can also work on my science project while I'm there._

"C'mon, sprocket, get your stuff so I can get you home."

"Is it a prison break?" she asked as she stepped over to the desk and slid her textbook into her backpack. "I saw a lot of police cruisers heading towards Blackgate."

"Never you mind what's going on out at the prison. Your uncle is there and he will sort through the mess."

Raya's dark brows drew together over her pert nose at those words. "So, it is a prison break."

Harvey heaved a heavy sigh. "Yeah," he finally admitted with a nod. "Yeah, it's a prison break"

"Shouldn't you get out there to help Uncle Jim?"

"I will after I make sure you get home safe and sound."

"I can call Mr. Pennyworth." She fiddled with the strap of her bag. "He can always come and get me."

"Look, kiddo." Bullock pointed out the window to where the Batsignal shone against the fractured sky. "Batman's already been called to help deal with the situation. So, quit worrying."

"Okay." Raya nodded and slid the strap of her bag up her arm. "He's not gonna be out there alone then."

"Nope, he ain't." He pulled on his coat. "Ready?"

Raya nodded. "Yup."

"Sure, you got everything?"

"Positive."

"C'mon then."

...

In the bunker built beneath the Wayne Foundation, _Bruce Wayne_ was transforming himself from the resident playboy he presented to the public into the costumed hero that struck terror into the hearts of Gotham's criminal sect. He was in no hurry since he trusted Gordon and his battalion of cops could keep whatever was happening out at Blackgate under control until he got there.

He pulled on his infamous suit of matte-black body armor made of reinforced Kevlar bi-weave fabric and fire-retardant Nomex, the black tights, gloves and arm gauntlets with the metal fins, and a cape he'd use to glide into the prison once he ejected from his chosen mode of transportation for that evening: the Batplane. He buckled the gold utility belt around his waist before he sat to pull on his steel-tipped black boots.

Then he reached for the last item needed to complete his transformation: the pointy-eared cowl that had become his trademark.

He regarded the mask for a moment, staring at the black pointy ears, the empty eye holes, the gaping area where his chin and mouth would be the only parts visible once he slid the mask into place. The focus of his study was not so much on the mask itself, but what it represented: _secrets_. Inside this one piece of Batman's arsenal rest a million secrets.

 _Batman's_ secrets.

 _Bruce Wayne's_ secrets.

The cowl had become both the cloak and the dagger, and each had cut him deeply over the course of his extensive career as a crime fighter. If he regretted anything, it was that several the choices he had made had deeply affected the lives of his family and closest friends.

He scowled at the mask as dozens of memories surfaced and reminded him of nights where he failed to protect those he cared about. Again, he asked himself the question that had started plaguing him days ago: _was Batman the solution to Gotham's problem or was it the problem_?

He found he no longer knew the answer as he pulled the mask over his head.

"Are you sure that you don't want me tagging along tonight?" Dick Grayson asked as he loitered around the entrance to the changing area. "You _could_ end up needing my help, yanno."

"And you are helping by waiting here for Raya," he told his partner and protege. "She will be home soon."

That got a sigh and a roll of the eyes.

"Raya's kinda used to me going out with you on calls now." A mischievous light danced in his blue eyes. "Yanno, _she_ would tell you that _Batman_ needs _Robin_ with him tonight. That it is his sworn and sacred duty to make sure that our silent guardian returns home safe and sound."

If not for the seriousness of the situation, he might have found himself amused at that manipulative little plot.

"You can't go with me, chum."

"Why not?"

"Tonight is different," he explained as patiently as he could. "That's why."

"Why is tonight different from any other night?" One dark brow lifted. "Do you know something about what is happening at Blackgate that I don't?"

"No."

How was he to explain to Dick he'd been plagued all evening by feelings of unease? A sort of anticipation that went deep down into his very bones? As if he could feel something bad was about to happen? He just didn't have any clue about what that something about to happen could be. And he didn't like it.

At all.

"Then why do you want me to stay here? Wouldn't it be better if I was out there and handling the small stuff?"

He should have known Dick wouldn't let the subject go easily. He had been questioning him about decisions and things a lot more lately. It made him a good Robin. _Even if it annoys me to no end_ …

"I have a feeling that whatever is going on at Blackgate could really just be a prelude to a larger and far more catastrophic event."

"Sooooo..." One of Dick's trademark grins flashed. "That's different from any other night, _how_?"

It was a logical question. _Mayhem_ and _Gotham_ were synonymous with each other. However, just because it was a good point didn't mean he appreciated hearing it. Especially in that cheeky tone. He sent Dick a warning look that the teen ignored. _As he always does_.

"I want you and Raya here manning the computer and police bands with Alfred," he told him. "We need to be ready for whatever else might happen tonight. And if Batman is unable to respond to whatever is going on..."

"Robin needs to be ready too." Dick sighed and nodded. "I got it. I'll keep an eye out and be ready for whatever else might happen."

"Thank you, chum."

 _Batman_ then strode over to where the Batplane hovered just a few inches above its landing platform. He climbed into the cockpit and took hold of the controls. Powerful engines roared to life as a steel canopy hissed shut above the cockpit. A few seconds later and the stealth aircraft thundered into the sky and headed towards Gotham Bay.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all and welcome!

This story is set during Dick Grayson's run as Robin.

Please, if you like this story, follow/fav it! Also, feel free to comment below if you liked this story (or didn't).


	2. The truth revealed

Bullock led the way from her uncle's office. Together they walked down the stairs, and through the throng of excited cops to the front steps of the police headquarters. The air outside the precinct smelled faintly of ozone, rotting garbage and the acrid stench of smoke.

"This way, sprocket."

Bullock turned and made his way towards the underground parking lot that was next to the police building. Raya obediently followed. Occasionally, she cast a furtive glance towards the prison and frowned. Something was wrong. She could feel it deep down in her bones. Something wasn't right about this supposed prison break.

She just couldn't put her finger on _what_ that something was. She decided to relay her concerns to Alfred once she got to the penthouse. He would tell her if she was either being paranoid or had a right to be concerned. _And he will contact Bruce if he thinks that my concerns are warranted enough to share with him_.

They passed a SWAT van parked at the curb. Of itself, that wasn't unusual. Not with the city under threat. Even the sight of several uniformed and vested officers standing around the van, talking and laughing did not strike her as being out of place. They were outside a police precinct, after all.

No, it was the appearance of a little boy with hair as dark as her own that snagged her attention. Raya paused to study the boy. He was maybe all of five or six from the looks of him, his face streaked with tears and dirt, and his knee bleeding from where he must have scrapped it.

His homemade Robin costume had a smile flittering across her lips. It would have been a perfect copy of the originals if it was not missing the cape, mask and boots the real Robin would be wearing. He _was likely at the Halloween Carnival they held in the Martha and Thomas Wayne Memorial Park_ , she thought as she watched him reach up to tug on the pants leg of one of the officers.

"I can't find Mrs. Mac," he whimpered plaintively. "Will you help me find her?"

The officer responded by shoving the boy away from him. "Git the hell away from me, ya sniveling brat!"

The boy tumbled backward with a soft cry, flaying his tiny arms in a futile effort to keep his balance, and failing miserably. He landed in a puddle of muddy water with a splash and started sobbing. Seeing the officer mistreating a child had her blood boiling, her teeth gnashing, and her hands curling into fists. _How dare he lay his hands upon that boy_! she seethed. _Who does he think he is_?

The rest of the officers all howled with laughter as the boy sat there, stagnant water and tears running in rivulets down his already filthy face. Her ire increased. Uncle Jim will hear about this, she swore as she raced across the street and dropped to her knees beside the sniffling boy.

"Hey," she said gently. "What happened?"

He stared up at her with huge, red-rimmed eyes that were the deepest shade of blue Raya had ever seen.

"H-he pus-pushed me," he whimpered. "Wh-why'd h-he pus-push m-me?"

"I don't know why he did it, sweetie." She used her sleeve to wipe a bit of the dirt from his face before helping him to his feet. "He shouldn't have done it, though."

He held his arms out and Raya picked him up, heedless of the water soaking through her clothing and chilling her.

"Will you help me find Mrs. Mac?" His lower lip quivered. "I can't find her."

Raya took a moment to comfort him. "I'll help you find her," she promised. Then she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial tone. "And if I can't find her, well, I'll ask Robin to help us." She smiled as his eyes popped wide as saucers. "Okay?"

He nodded. "'Kay."

She stroked her hand over his damp curls, earning a smile that melted her heart before turning to shoot a heated glare at the offending officer.

"Hey!" Anger burned below her skin and loosened her hold over her tongue. "I'm going to report you to my uncle for putting your hands on a child!"

The officer turned, drew his pistol from his holster and aimed it at her.

"I don't think you're gonna be sayin' anythin' ta any damn body, ya uppity lil' bitch," the officer told her as he cocked the hammer. "Not in a coupla minutes, anyway."

The boy gasped and burrowed his face against her shoulder. Raya didn't dare try to comfort him. Not at that moment. A glance to the side showed the other officers were closing in. Their leering faces sent chills dancing along her spine. The fear, though was for the boy shivering against her more than it was for herself.

If she was on her own, she could either turn tail and run or stand and fight. She had the boy's safety to consider. One wrong move and he could become a casualty of this situation. If there was one thing she learned in all her training sessions with Bruce, it was that a good offense required a much stronger defense. She tossed her head and fixed the officer with what she hoped was her most defiant expression.

"You shoot me and Batman will hunt you down."

"Aint gonna be no Bat after tonight."

 _No Batman_? Her eyebrows feathered upwards hearing that. _What the hell is he talking about_?

Before she could question the man, however, a sinister laugh came from the alleyway behind them.

"Gentlemen!" It was a voice Raya recognized instantly: low, cultured, sickeningly pleasant. "Is aiming a gun at children really necessary?"

Raya shifted her gaze as a man in frayed and pieced together brown clothing and a burlap gas mask slithered out from the rear of the van. The needles of the glove adorning his one hand scratched the side of the SWAT vehicle. She cringed and pushed the boy behind her, instinctively placing herself between him and the monster slinking towards them.

 _It wasn't the Joker_ , she realized with rising horror and dread. _It was the Scarecrow behind whatever happened at Blackgate._

"Why, hello, my dear," the Scarecrow simpered as he scuttled close to her. "And how are you on this fine evening?"

"Why, you, foul, loathsome, despicable man…" she hissed as the boy whimpered against her shoulder. " _You_ are the one behind whatever is happening at Blackgate!"

"Of course." Scarecrow giggled, the sound grating upon her already strained nerves. "I need to keep your guardian busy." He leaned in, close enough that Raya could peer into the eyeholes of the mask and see the nothingness that lurked beneath. "I do have research to do tonight and can't have Batman or Commissioner Gordon interrupting me."

"You and your research," she scoffed. "You are a disgrace to the field of psychology. I'm glad they yanked your license and revoked your privileges."

"I am still considered the leading expert in the phenomena of fear."

"You are a monster who terrorizes his patients and forces them into becoming his research subjects."

"Speaking of patients." Crane wagged one of those syringe tipped fingers playfully. "I was quite displeased when you stopped attending our sessions."

"I do _not_ need your help."

"Well, now, that's not _my_ diagnosis, Miss Berkeley."

Raya barred her teeth at him in a wordless snarl. "And I don't care about _your_ diagnosis."

"Oh," he said, almost pleasant. "But you really should."

"Why are you here?" she demanded. "What do you want?"

She swore that gaping maw stretched wider. "You know what I want, my dear girl."

Yes, she did know what the despicable monster wanted: _Inceptive_. It was the only thing a man as obsessed as him could want. Well, she had one answer to that.

"You will never get your filthy hands on either Grandfather's notes or his formula."

He reached out and skimmed her cheek with the tip of one of those needles. "Now, now," he crooned. "I would think very carefully about my words, my dear. The health and well-being of the rodent clutching your hand all depends on your cooperation."

The slippery insinuation sparked a rush of anger. She knocked his hand away with a growl.

"Inject me with your toxin." It was a bold dare. One that would have her uncle spitting nails and Batman silently nodding approval over. To protect this boy, to keep him from being made to suffer, she would do whatever was necessary. Including face her own fears. "Go ahead. Do it. I'm not afraid."

"Now we both know that is a lie." Scarecrow sidled even closer. "I know your greatest fears, after all..."

"You know nothing."

"You blame yourself for your mother's death." Scarecrow paced around her and the trembling boy she clutched against her. "You needed to protect her from your abusive father but failed."

"Wrong," she gritted even as her stomach churned. "You're wrong."

"Buried deep down is the fear that you will fail someone else that you love."

"Never," she denied. "I will never fail those I love."

"Shall I show you I am right, my dear?"

From the corner of her eye, Raya saw a bulky industrial machine with an ominously glowing red button being taken out of the van by two of the _officers_. She didn't need to know what that machine was to know it spelled trouble.

"I will never let you use my fears to destroy me," she told him. "Or to devastate this city."

"I beg to disagree," he said as he stepped to the machine. "In a few moments, you and the people of this city will finally see how at the end of _fear_ ," he all but cooed the word, "is _oblivion_."

He pressed the flashing button on the machine then and -

…

Within seconds, the reaction spread throughout the city. Chaos carved a path of destruction through every street and alley. It was as if a thousand bombs hit Gotham all at once. Fire hydrants gushed like geysers. Manholes blasted high into the air. Sewer pipes burst, street lamps exploded, steam pipes split, and power lines sizzled as they hit the asphalt.

The city went as black as the entrance to hell. The streets soon filled with broken glass, bits of brick and mortar, and the water sliding out from under foundations and pouring out from bathrooms and kitchens all throughout the city.

The cobblestone streets became flooded with cars and people trying to get away from the onslaught. Most ended up stranded. Alarms began to go off all over the city and emergency sirens shrieked. Thousands of Gothamites awoke, blinking open sleepy eyes, staring at clocks and then out of windows before asking each other, "What's going on, now?"

Others reached for phones and tablets, trying to contact family and friends to ask if any of them knew what the hell was happening in the city now.

In a nursing home by Gotham General, a group of men in their eighties and nineties found where they'd stashed their M1911's and air raid helmets, telling each other that they knew the damn things would come in handy one day. People caught out on the streets raced to the nearest bar, firehouse or hospital.

Dozens of others sought their local house of worship, clutching their loved ones tight and praying for salvation.

And the animals of the city just leered at each other as they realized the opportunity that was being given to them...

…

Bullock realized he was alone the second he reached his squad car. A glance over his shoulder revealed the sprocket hadn't followed him into the parking garage. A frown marred his brow. _Where'd you get to, sprocket?_ A niggling of fear that the girl had been snatched right out from under him filled the veteran detective, caused his eye to twitch and his gut to shudder. _Nah, she would have set up a holler loud enough to wake the dead if someone tried to mess with her._

He walked back to the garage entrance and felt his blood ran cold when he spotted the masked figure scuttling towards her. _Only that damn clown would be worse than this freak_ , he thought as he reached for his pistol. His hand froze as Scarecrow reached out with his long, elongated dactyls to sweep one pale cheek. The sprocket barred her teeth in a wordless snarl and slapped his hand away.

The pluckiness of the fourteen-year-old impressed as much as it disturbed the ulcer he had been ignoring. _Stand down, kiddo_ , he silently urged the girl. _Don't push him into gassing you_. His attention was diverted when two men in stolen SWAT gear set a bulky industrial machine with an ominously glowing red button behind a SWAT van.

Bullock's breath expelled in a rush. He had known things were going to be bad soon as word came down that a bomb had been detonated on the bridge leading to Blackgate. He hadn't realized just how bad things were going to get until he saw the Scarecrow. What the demented Doctor was planning to do with that machine was horribly, horribly clear.

He was gonna gas all of Gotham.

 _And that includes the sprocket and kid curled against the back of her legs_...

Bullock forced his legs to move, ignoring the sharp pain in his chest and side as he tried to reach the kids standing in the heart of the blast zone.

The Scarecrow pressed that flashing button before he made it even halfway across the street...

…

For over a half hour, Commissioner James "Jim" Gordon, a twenty-year veteran detective named Johnson, and a uniformed officer named Markinson had prowled a residential section of the Narrows in search of escaped convicts. Gordon was acutely aware that the residents of this neighborhood were watching them from windows and front stoops.

The police were largely seen as the enemy in this section of Gotham. The people of this small community had lost faith in those who wore badges long before Gordon had become a member of the GCPD.

It was something he worked hard to try and correct.

His flashlight beam landed upon a man dressed in Blackgate Penitentiary's dingy orange coveralls as he cowered behind a dumpster overflowing with refuse.

"Come on, Davis," Gordon called out in a calm, clear voice, "if you come out quietly, I will see to it that you are transferred to Arkham as you requested."

"Jim!" Johnson hissed at his side. "Don't promise this filthy degenerate anything!"

"Be quiet, Johnson." Gordon kept his eyes trained on the visibly trembling man. "What's it going to be, son? Are you going to come quietly or are we going to have to chase you down like an animal?"

Davis chose to take off down a side alley.

"Keep your light on him!" Officer Markinson called over his shoulder as he shot off after him. "I'll get him!"

"Markinson..." Gordon started to say but the rookie brought the slenderer Davis down with a flying tackle. The inmate flipped over before Markinson could cuff him, and landed a punch upon the uniformed officer that rocked his head to the side.

Davis got up to again run, but Johnson grabbed him and slammed him up against the side of a rundown building, hard. Davis let out a pained yelp and received a cuff to the back of the head for it.

"Police brutality right there!" Someone yelled from above. "Saw it with my own eyes!"

"He ain't nothing but an animal," Markinson snapped. "A diseased rat that needs exterminating."

"Someone should lock _you_ upfor the animal that _you_ are!"

Johnson cut the speaker, a dark-skinned woman in her late forties, a scathing look. "Wanna take this dirtbag into your home and let him around your sixteen-year-old daughter? No? Then shut your mouth."

"Johnson," Gordon snapped, flashing the man a reproving look. "That's enough."

Johnson cuffed the guy without another word.

"Hey, Commissioner," one of the other uniforms shouted, "dispatch on the radio for ya!"

 _What now_? Gordon found himself wondering as he walked towards his car. He reached in for the radio but stopped when a sound, much like a thousand cannons all being fired at once filled the night.

"What the hell's going on now?" he heard Johnson shout above the din. "Jim?"

"Do something!" one of the citizens shouted from their windows. "For the love of God, _please_ , do something!"

The only thing that Gordon, the cops and the small group of citizens could do was turn and watch as the streets became engulfed in a torrent of madness.

…

Something exploded next to Raya, throwing her backward, and she felt something hot pierce her cheek, throat, and forehead. Her blouse was torn at the bottom, there was mud on her pants and her elbow was throbbing from where it collided with the pavement. She blinked her eyes and slowly sat up, trying to make sense of what happened.

The street was filling with... _what_? she wondered, frowning. Smoke? No, there were no fires. Fog? Impossible. The storm blocked that. So, what was this dense substance? _It's almost like a vaporous steam_ , she realized as she brushed dirt and gravel from her face.

The faint, mist-like quality to the steam made her think of a bathroom after someone took a hot shower. Could someone have convinced the city to turn on every shower as one huge Halloween prank? _That is juvenile for even our most childish of rogues_ , she thought, her brow puckering. Not even the Joker would lower himself to something this simplistic _._

As her mind slowly cleared away the lingering haze holding her fast, Raya became aware of the difference in this steam and that created by hot water. _This stuff is thicker than steam_. _And there's a faint smell to it_... _like that of pickled eggs._

She recalled then how the Scarecrow had pushed a glowing red button on his machine... _wait, that's it_ , she thought, her stomach heaving with a greasy wave of nausea so powerful she nearly vomited the contents of her stomach. _He must have unearthed a new type of fear toxin, one that when combined with water will cause this type of steam_.

This was a hallucinogenic mist.

One that would carry his toxin to every part of Gotham and consume all who happened to be its path.

Raya let out a small gasp as the implications became startlingly clear. _I must get in contact with Bruce and Uncle Jim_ , she thought. _They need to know what Crane has unleashed upon the city so that they can do something about it_.

She heard a soft whimper and glanced over to see the dark-haired boy lying face down next to the right rear tire of the SWAT van. She instantly crawled towards him on her hands and knees.

…

Gordon was standing near a manhole when the lid flew into the air like a bottle rocket, taking parts of the street and part of the closest building with it. Mortar and cobblestone rained down, a piece of which struck Gordon in the side of the head. He went down and heard one of his officer's shout something incoherently at him.

Another blast sounded close to him and he felt something pierce his arm. When he laid his hand over the spot, his fingers came back sticky with blood and bits of debris.

He knew in that moment that whatever the Scarecrow was planning had just been unleashed. Gotham was an open war zone. On one side was himself and some of the finest officers to ever work for the GCPD, and on the other was that sick, twisted fiend.

Nobody, not even Batman, could have predicted that this was what the crazed madman was going to do. How could they have? It just didn't seem possible. He got to his feet and felt warm blood running down the side of his face like hot caramel.

A thin mist slowly began to roll like an ocean wave down the street, sliding over anything and everything that fell in its path. He saw Officer Markinson, a blurred silhouette, waving his arms and screaming. At what? Something Gordon couldn't see? Or... something that wasn't there? Markinson yanked his pistol from its holster and began firing wildly. The flash from the muzzle of the gun elongated and became serpents that streaked towards Gordon, hissing fire.

He was hallucinating and knew he'd only have only a few seconds before his rational mind would become bound within the toxin's neurological compound. He fumbled for his radio and tried to send out a message for whoever was not in the area to fall back and get indoors if they could. He got the radio out, but then he had a problem; his thumb and fingers had gone numb and he couldn't press the button to make the radio work.

He fumbled the radio in his frustration, dropping it and was bending down to retrieve it when he felt something jab into his arm. He let out a grunt when he felt liquid nitrogen sizzle into his vein.

His fingers regained feeling. He turned just as something went singing past his ear. Markinson was still waving his gun and shooting; a bullet missed Gordon by mere inches. Now, Markinson was aiming at the figure standing beside him.

"John, no!" Gordon shouted.

Markinson either did not or could not, hear him. Robin brought the man down with a flying tackle. They locked arms and legs and rolled upon the cobblestone. Markinson got an arm free at one point and landed a punch that rocked the younger boy's head to the side. Markinson rolled on top of Robin and tried to get his hands around the teenager's throat. Gordon lurched forward, meaning to help subdue the officer, but Robin landed an upwards palm thrust to the man's chin that knocked him loose.

Robin pulled another syringe from his pouch and jabbed it into Markinson's arm before he dragged the man over to a pipe and used his own cuffs to cuff him to it. Gordon walked towards him but stopped when he heard a sound slowly start to rise above the mist trailing the ground.

It was nothing more than a low wail at first. Then it rose into a howl that increased with volume and intensity until it seemed to become the only ambient sound in the entire universe. _What the hell_...? Gordon shared a look with Robin and saw the teen had realized what the sound was at the same instant he had.

It was the sound of thousands upon thousands of voices.

All howling in mortal terror.

…

"Hey, Tate," one of the other uniforms shouted, "someone said that I was ta give this to ya."

Detective Ethan Tate flashed his light up the street and watched as the officer, Levinson looped towards him.

"What is it?" he quizzed the rookie. "Don't tell me there are even more problems than Scarecrow, a prison break and the Commissioner trapped on the other side of the bridge."

"Nah, it's nothing bad."

Ethan thanked God for small favors.

"Then what is it?"

"I was told ta give ya this by Robin." He passed over a small brown pouch. "Said ta tell ya that this will counter the effects of Scarecrow's toxin."

Tate took the pouch and opened it. Inside were enough syringes for ten, twenty men. Hope blossomed and spread warmth throughout his body. He looked at Levinson.

"How many officers are with you?"

"Two."

He removed three syringes from the pouch and passed them to the officer.

"Give them one of these and then meet me back at the GCPD."

A frown puckered Levinson's brow. "But the GCPD was hit the hardest with the toxin bomb."

Tate nodded. "And we're going to give whoever we can the antidote Robin gave us and then do what we can to help the city."

"Okay."

Levinson took the syringes and turned to jog over to where two other officers stood by a squad car. Tate watched for a moment before climbing into his car.

…

Gordon climbed into his police cruiser and drove it to the bridge connecting this part of the Narrows with the rest of Gotham. Someone had given the order to raise the bridge. He was trapped on this side of the island. Police flashers were visible from across the river, meaning cops were there. _Help_ was over there. He keyed the cruiser's radio and identified himself. The radio screamed to life less than a second later.

" _We hear you, sir._ " Gordon recognized the voice of Ethan Tate. " _Are you okay_?"

"I'm fine, Tate," he said into the microphone. "Is Bullock with you?"

" _No, sir_."

That could only mean that Harvey was still getting Raya home. Gordon breathed a sigh of relief before asking the detective, "What the hell is going on over there, Tate?"

There was a pause. " _Commissioner, it was a setup by the Scarecrow."_

"Scarecrow?" Gordon's eyebrows feathered up at hearing _that_ name. "What was a setup by the Scarecrow?"

" _Everything, sir. The bomb at Blackgate, the prison escape, he orchestrated all of it."_

"Why? What purpose does staging a prison break serve a man like the Scarecrow?"

 _What is his endgame_? Gordon found himself wondering.

 _"It was intended to distract you long enough so he could detonate a massive toxin bomb outside police headquarters._ "

"A toxin bomb outside police headquarters..." Gordon's blood ran cold. "My God, he plans to gas all of Gotham." Gordon thanked his lucky stars that Bullock had already gotten Raya to Bruce Wayne's luxury penthouse. "Tate, radio the Tac teams, SWAT, and riot cops – get 'em into masks and have them..."

" _They're incapacitated, sir_ ," came Tate's quiet reply. " _They were hit with the fear gas. There's nobody left but me and a couple of men who heard what was going on and came to offer their services_."

…

Batman had been monitoring the police bands ever since he rocketed out of the tunnel connected to the underground bunker and heard the conversation between Gordon and Tate. He wasn't surprised to learn that it was the Scarecrow behind the night's events. His gut had been predicting that something more than a simple prison break was going to happen. Hearing that Raya was still at the GCPD and that she likely had gotten caught in whatever Scarecrow had a burst of fear flaring to life within him. His breath whooshed out and his head spun.

"Why, Jim?" he rasped in the silence of the cockpit. "Why was she still at the GCPD? Why hadn't you sent her to the penthouse?"

 _Why didn't you call me so I could go and get her?_ he silently raged. Slippery serpents slithered beneath his skin. They taunted him in a warm, moist hiss, telling him, _she's ours now_. _She's ours, and there's nothing you can do about it._

He sliced those eels in two with a thick sword fashioned out of cold, hard iron. There was something he could do, he told himself as he banked the plane to the East. He could go and stop the Scarecrow from getting his hands on her.

"Alfred," he spoke into the microphone built into his cowl. "Alfred, are you there?"

"Of course, sir," came the butler's cultured and refined voice. "Robin and I heard that the Scarecrow detonated a toxin bomb at the GCPD. What do you wish us to do?"

"Have Robin take what antidote we have on hand to Commissioner Gordon."

"He figured that would be your first order and left about ten minutes ago."

"Good."

"Sir?"

"What is it, Alfred?"

"What about Miss Raya?"

He could hear the thin ribbon of worry coating the butler's tone.

"I am heading to the GCPD as we speak." His voice became hard as tempered steel. "I will find and stop the Scarecrow before he hurts her."

"Very good, sir."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope that you are having a good week!

Please, if you like this story, follow/fav it!


	3. A Phoenix is Born

In the three seconds it took for her to crawl over to the boy, Raya realized how bad things were going to get for the city of Gotham. The mist caressed her skin, slid down her throat and caused her to burn from the inside out.

The edges of her vision blurred. She could feel the toxin sliding beneath the fringe of her consciousness and storming the gates of her mind.

She had to get to the bunker and the antidote.

She tried to find Bullock, but the vapor was making it impossible to see more than two inches in front of her face. A fly buzzed by her ear, startling her and she choked on her gasp. Her eyes began to water and she knuckled the moisture away before she looked up...

... _snakes slithered across the ground towards her, red eyes winking playfully, and fangs dripping a black ooze as they stretched into feral grins_.

Raya stifled a shriek and tossed her arms over her head. It was no use, however. The toxin had taken hold of her. A sound, like the fluttering of wings, snapped her head up. _Batman_? She silently hoped. _Robin_? No, what she saw was her father staring at her from the swirling shadows. He came walking towards her, his stride that customary prowl, and his smile the one she knew spelled trouble.

"Hello, Princess. Miss me?"

"No," Raya whispered. "No, you're not here. You're _not_ here."

"I am here, Princess." His tone was that fake, conciliatory one he used in public. "I'm here to take you home with me." A pause. "Where you belong."

 _Home_.

Home was her uncle's small house in the Narrows.

Home was with Bruce, Dick, and Alfred at the Manor.

Home was a safe and happy place.

Home was _not_ with this man.

Home would _never_ be with this man.

Raya pushed to her feet, intending to run inside the GCPD and to safety, but she only managed half a step when a hand clamped over her arm, held her fast.

"And just where do you think you're going?"

She couldn't speak, could make no sound at all. She prayed this was all the work of the toxin making its way through her system. He reached out and brushed her dark curls from her face. It was only with an extreme effort that she didn't vomit the contents of her stomach all over his polished wingtips. Then he turned his wrist and those slender fingers caressed her cheek.

Raya went cold to the marrow of her being.

"Well, Princess?" he questioned in that purr that warned her what the consequences of lying would be. "Don't you have an answer for Daddy?"

Raya had never wanted her uncle or Batman more than at that very moment. Desperately, she prayed for either man to come tearing through the fog to yank her away from this apparition calling itself her _daddy_. However, they didn't come to her aid. Not this time. They couldn't since neither knew where she was.

Or that she was in trouble.

Deep, deep trouble.

Not even the Joker terrified her as much as Matthew Berkeley Jr. This man, this monster had hurt her in ways nobody knew about. He continued to hurt her despite her every effort to stop him from doing so.

She closed her eyes when he leaned forward to place a tender kiss on her forehead. A tear slithered down her cheek. His voice, his touch, it was draining away everything she had become in the six years since her mother's murder.

She felt herself completely fading away.

"I asked you a question, young lady. I expect an answer." His fingers tightened, went biting cruel as he jerked her chin up. "Look at me when I talk to you."

Her eyes opened and all she could see were his, those dead-eyed, predatory pools that told her he was just waiting for her to make a mistake.

Raya stood as still as the lions adorning the steps of the Solomon Wayne Courthouse.

She made absolutely no sound whatsoever.

She didn't dare.

He smiled then and made her shudder. Her heart pounded harder, faster. There were bands tightening around her head, around her chest. She struggled for control, for calm. If she wasn't careful, very, very careful, he would kill her the same as he killed her mother.

She heard a child sniffle and call out for his mother and father. The sound snapped her back to reality. To who she was. She was Raya Kean, and she had a child she needed to protect. Raya willed her fear aside - not away for that was beyond her capabilities - and reached out to draw the sobbing boy into her lap.

"Sh, sh." She smoothed the hair from his face. "It's gonna be okay."

He looked at her with eyes as huge as saucers. "Mo-mommy?"

"I don't know where your mommy is, kiddo."

"Mrs. Mac?"

 _Tim? Is his name Tim_? He looked like the Drake's little boy.

Well, there was one way to find out.

"I will find Mrs. Mac for you, Tim." She rest her lips against his temple. "I promise you, I will find her. Or I will have Robin find her. Okay?"

"'Kay."

Fury rose up to strangle the lingering fear as she gently rocked Tim, murmuring nonsensical words in hopes they would chase away the monsters. _How dare Scarecrow_! she fumed silently. It was little wonder the doctor's license to practice psychiatric medicine had been yanked!

The ethical violations he was breaking here alone would have had the Gotham branch of the APA in fits! Raya realized she needed to find a way to make contact with either her uncle or Batman. The sooner she alerted them to what Scarecrow was doing, the sooner he would be made to pay for the horrors he inflicted upon the city. _And_ _this little boy most of all_ , she thought heatedly.

"Hey, it's okay," she murmured when Tim let out a hoarse cry. "Nobody's gonna hurt you. I promise."

"Oh, I wouldn't make a promise like that to one so young and impressionable."

Raya curved her body instinctively around Tim's shivering form and looked up to see...

... _maggots and spiders boiling up and out of the mask's empty eye holes, rained down from that gaping black maw and scuttled across the ground_.

Raya hammered back the burst of fear, focusing every ounce of her mental energy upon the child who clung desperately to her. A dark, skeletal shape emerged from out of the mist.

It was Crane, wearing his burlap mask.

She saw other figures gather behind him. It didn't take much to figure out that they were the prisoners who had been awaiting transport in the prison van she had seen when she exited the GCPD.

"You'll pay for this," she hissed at the emaciated figure. "You understand me? You are gonna pay for what you have done tonight."

"And pray tell who," the Scarecrow simpered in a voice which grated upon her already raw nerves, "do you think is going to make me pay, Miss Berkeley? Commissioner Gordon? Batman?" He laughed, one high-pitched cackle that had her lips peeling back in a wordless snarl. "Or his little _Robin_?"

Raya may have been all of fourteen, but she was far from stupid. Scarecrow was a licensed Psychologist with years of experience in conducting psychological research. Just like her grandfather, he would have given thought to the topic he was researching.

He would have carefully selected the research method he would use to test his variables. He would have set the parameters of that method and staged how the experiment would be conducted, and by whom. He'd have taken all possible outliers and confounding variables into consideration to make sure his results were conclusive, valid and reputable.

He was not worried about either Batman or Robin coming for him and potentially skewing his data because he anticipated that and did something to prevent it. The prison break had been a ruse designed to make sure that nobody could stop him from detonating his fear bomb. _Or stop him from getting his hands on her_ , she realized.

Well, he wasn't gonna get one part of his plan, at least. She scrambled to her feet with Tim clutched in her arms and tore off into the dense fog.

"After her!" Scarecrow snapped shrilly at the figures surrounding him.

Raya heard feet pounding behind her and raced into the alleyway the Scarecrow had slunk out of. Ensuring the safety of the boy in her arms was her only priority at that moment. She had to get him to higher grounds somehow.

Exactly how she was going to carry out that feat was proving difficult. Without a grapnel line, she could not get them to the roofs of any of the buildings she raced past. Nor could she rightly scale the side of the building with him in her arms.

She needed to find some place where she could use the flare Uncle Jim ordered her to carry. It was an established distress signal, one designed for when she could not reach him or Batman in any other way. She had to use the flare some place where she and Tim could hole up while waiting for help to arrive.

The question on her mind was _where_. She stumbled and crashed into a trio of garbage cans, but stubbornly pushed on. Stopping meant Tim's death. She wouldn't let that happen. She'd stay between him and the very real monsters stalking them from the mist induced darkness. She turned down another alley and stopped.

Dead end.

They had nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide.

 _Trapped like rats._

Raya felt her world tilt and then slowly begin to crumble. She was alone, without any of the gear Bruce had given her, not dressed in the body armor he'd had specially designed for her, extremely low on options, and the only adult available to protect a defenseless kid.

She heard a giggle, faint and unmistakable and turned to watch as the Scarecrow materialized from out of the very mist he'd created. He paused a few feet from her and the now whimpering boy and purred, "Now what will you do, my dear? You have nowhere to go, and nowhere to hide."

He was right and Raya knew it. She didn't have anywhere to go. There was nowhere to hide. She wasn't completely done for, however. His minions circled around him, hulking shadows wearing burlap masks and promising pain.

Even with the skills and training Bruce had given her, the odds were more than solidly in Scarecrow's favor. A breath of wind billowed past her ear at that moment and she swore she heard Bruce speaking to her from the shadows.

 _"Always remember to fight smarter, not harder."_

It was the third lesson he taught her. She mentally went over what items she had with her. She had two textbooks and a handful of pens. Little help there. The bag and books combined could work as a temporary weapon. The mist would make her invisible and allow her to move among the prisoners without them being able to see her.

Striking fast, striking hard was her best option. Get in, and out before they could land a blow against her. From there she had... _the flare_. Her lips curved. She could use the flare to cause a distraction. Raya set Tim down, quieting his protest by cupping his cheek before reaching into a pocket of her backpack.

She had one move she could make, and she needed to make it count.

"Come with me now," Scarecrow crooned to her, holding out the hand covered by that Freddy Krueger-like glove. In the shadows created by the dense mist, the syringes which tipped his fingers glowed like neon symbols of toxic death. "And I will spare the boy. Defy me and you will not like the consequences."

"How about you try roasting in hell?" Raya spat as she pulled the flare out. "Catch!"

She ignited the flare and tossed it at him, watching as a spark from the red-hot flame caught in a piece of the frayed burlap covering the doctor's skeletal arm. The Scarecrow emitted a high-pitched shriek and began to wildly beat at the smoldering material before he tore off through the fog, desperate to find a drop of water to put out the cloth with.

The inmates scattered once their leader abandoned them, unwilling to become her next target of attack. Raya then knelt beside Tim and curved her arms around him, crooning softly to him while she tried to figure out what the hell to do now.

…

Gordon glanced over at Robin once Markinson was secure. "Hey, kid, you okay?"

Robin flashed him a cheeky grin from over his left shoulder. "Poison Ivy hits a lot harder than that guy does, Commissioner."

Gordon swallowed the _dad_ comment which instantly sprang to mind as the boy blithely mentioned the villainess known throughout the city of Gotham as _Poison Ivy_. It disturbed him that any fourteen-year-old should know about the existence of, much less routinely be engaging in combative measures against a woman with Pamela Isley's botanist skills.

This wasn't his kid, though, and he told himself that he had no right to go _dad_ upon him. However, it wasn't easy for him to turn off his dad-mode.

This tousled hair youth was the same age as Barbara and Raya. For all he knew, Robin was in the same grade as his girls. He could be in one or more of their primary classes at Gotham Academy.

 _Kid should be worrying about things like passing the exam to get his driver's permit, working at the local movie theater, or getting to second base with his girlfriend_ , he thought. _He shouldn't be concerned with how to save an entire city that has just been saturated in fear by a burlap sack wearing freak_.

"Commissioner," he heard Robin say. "Things are gonna get a whole lot worse around here and fast."

"I know things are going to get a lot worse, son," Gordon murmured. "What do you suggest that we do? I don't think Batman has the quantity of antidote we need to counter this much fear toxin."

It was clear that Robin was thinking that very same thing. "Can you radio your men? Keeping the people out of this mist is the best that we can do for them at this point."

"It's better than doing nothing," he agreed as he walked over to his patrol car. "Let's see who we have left, shall we?"

He could hear the sirens screaming in the distance, saw police flashers visible through the dense cloud lying heavy over the streets. Cops were out there. Tate was wrong when he assumed they were all incapacitated. He just needed to get those cops where they were needed the most. He keyed the cruiser's radio and identified himself to the dispatcher. The radio squawked before he'd barely checked in.

" _Jim_ ," he recognized the voice as that of Bullock. " _Jim, man, am_ _I glad to hear your voice_. _Things have gone to hell out here and we could use you back here at headquarters_."

"Harvey, I need you to get all men and women not out in the streets out there," Gordon said. "Call whoever wasn't on duty, get all retired cops who are willing, pull in the damn meter..."

" _Jim, the Scarecrow was waiting outside the GCPD_."

"I know about the Scarecrow being outside the precinct," Gordon said on a tattered breath. "Tate radioed me earlier and told me about the son of a bitch detonating some sort of toxin bomb."

He heard a rustle of cloth and glanced over to see that Robin had come to stand beside him. He could read the fear in the depths of those blue eyes and was puzzled by it. He again wondered if he knew the boy. Was he willfully turning a blind eye to the truth because he either didn't want to know or was keeping himself from admitting it to protect the kid? He couldn't answer that.

"What about your niece, Commissioner?" Robin whispered to him. "Did Bullock get her home before Scarecrow detonated his bomb?"

Dread curled in Gordon's stomach as the real reason for why Harvey was radioing him occurred to him.

"Where is Raya, Harvey?" He swallowed back the fear. "Is my niece safe?"

" _Jim_..." Harvey said slowly. " _I tried_ …"

"Dammit, Harvey, tell me you stashed my girl somewhere safe before the Scarecrow turned this damned city into one huge research experiment!"

" _Jim, I turned my back for one second and she was gone_."

Jim closed his eyes and squeezed the radio in his hand. "What happened?"

 _"I don't know. One second she was behind me and the next she was knocking Scarecrow's hand away from her face."_

If not for the fear and worry careening around inside him, he would have been proud of her for that bit of spunk.

"All right," he said slowly. "And the Scarecrow? Where did he go after detonating the bomb?"

" _After Raya_." There was a pause punctuated by a long sigh. " _Dammit_ _it_ , _Jim, the sick son of a bitch was waiting for her to leave the GCPD so he could snatch her_."

"Snatch her? What possible reason could the man have for wanting to kidnap Raya?"

Gordon had a burning hole in his belly and a knot in his chest that was telling him the answer to that question was one thing and one thing alone: _Inceptive_. And he could tell by the sudden blanching of Robin's face that the teenager had drawn the very same conclusion as he had.

" _Why else, Jim_?" came Bullock's gruff reply. " _It's about that damn formula the sprocket's grandfather created_."

He stared again at the flashing lights winking in the distance. He was the law of Gotham, a defender of truth and justice, the protector of the innocent. And yet when it was his own kid being hunted by a schizophrenic monster, he was unable to do anything to help her.

His _dad-mode_ screamed in protest even as the rational part of his mind whispered to him that it was up to _Robin_ to save his niece from the Scarecrow. _He can get across the city faster than I can. He can get to her before I can_.

He could get Batman to her.

He turned his head, intending to ask the boy for his help, but found he was standing by the patrol car, alone.

"Huh," he grunted. "Kid's got Batman's habit of disappearing as silently as the wind."

…

"Batman," Robin said into the microphone built into his mask. "Do you copy?"

It took less than a second for Batman to reply. "What is it, Robin?"

"Bullock was taking Raya home when Scarecrow unleashed holy hell upon the city."

"I'm already aware of that, Robin."

"He didn't get her home."

"What?"

"According to Bullock, Scarecrow was waiting outside the GCPD." Robin paused. "This is about Raya. Everything the Scarecrow is doing tonight has been about getting his hands on her so he could force her Grandfather into handing over his notes about _Inceptive_."

"Where are you?"

"I'm too far away for us to meet." Robin reached for his grapnel gun. "You have to get to her. You have to get to her and fast. If the Scarecrow..."

He didn't finish his sentence.

He didn't need to finish that sentence.

Batman knew what would happen if the Scarecrow got his hands upon Raya.

And he knew that the Dark Knight would tear the man apart before he'd ever allow that to happen.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi, all! Hope things are well with you!

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	4. Help has arrived

Tim was shaking from a combination of cold, fatigue and the lingering toxin still in his system. She made a mental note to prepare an emergency kit with antidotes for many of the poisons and toxins that those like Scarecrow used. For now, she needed to get him somewhere warm and safe. The question, though, was where?

She looked around, but couldn't see anything that told her where she even was. She hadn't paid attention to where she was going when she made her mad dash from the precinct.

If she could get back to police headquarters, if she could get to her uncle's office, she could call him. He would be able to contact Batman, to get him to go after Scarecrow and capture him before more people ended up hurt. Then it was just a matter of holing up inside the GCPD until her uncle could get to them. And if he was not able to get back to the precinct, well, so long as she and Tim were inside...

 _I need to get above this mist_ , she thought as she quieted Tim by stroking her hand over the cap of hair plastered to his head. That was the only way she would be able to figure out where they were. She scooped Tim up into her arms and started to slowly make her way through the dense and heavy mist.

The going was painstakingly slow.

Shadows materialized in front of her, black shapes undulating in the pearlescent mist like sea serpents—at least eight to ten of them from what little she could see. One of the figures glided into a thin beam of light created by a car headlight. He had a SWAT jacket over his dingy orange prison garb.

Her stomach curdled with dread as she recognized the man: _Taylor Jensen_. Her mind ticked off his rap sheet like bullets fired from a gun.

Repeat sex offender.

Had a liking for little boys about Tim's age.

Known sexual sadist.

Had a minimum of six victims.

The level of dangerousness? Extremely high.

 _Now'd be a really good time to just drop in, bird brain_ , she thought as a surge of desperation streaked through her. Getting to higher grounds, and quickly, was her only option. She darted over to the side of a building, searching for a fire-escape with a ladder. She finally located one and raced over to it, but she wasn't tall enough to reach the bottom rung. And even if she lifted Tim to it, he was in no condition to pull himself up.

Frustration, as well as fear scorched through her. If it was just herself that she needed to worry about, she would turn and fight. Batman had been instructing her in hand-to-hand combat for the last nine months and she had gotten rather proficient at defending herself against monsters like these. She couldn't risk putting Tim in harm's way, though.

Not with a man like Jensen on the loose. If Batman or her uncle were there they'd tell her that his safety and well-being was her only concern.

And they would be right.

She heard footsteps shuffling behind her and hugged him tighter to her, racking her brain for what she could do. She had no weapon, no phone, and she had used her only signal flare to scare off the Scarecrow.

She stepped sideways, and her foot connected with something solid. She glanced down and saw the body of the uniformed cop who had aimed his gun at her outside the GCPD. _Aha_ , she thought. _He might have something I can use._

The inmates drew closer. One of them was giggling. And she saw Jensen's face had a hard, hungry look on it. Her belly twisted violently. She left Tim by the wall of a building and knelt by the officer's body, searching it. His sidearm was missing, as was his holdout pistol. Neither was all that was surprising. Her hand bumped something long and cylindrical. A can of pepper spray, she realized.

It was better than nothing.

"Get back," she gritted as she pulled the can out and aimed it. "I'm warning you…"

Jensen just grinned and continued coming towards her. Raya took a deep breath and aimed the can. Her finger squeezed the trigger. She wouldn't be able to spray all of them, but so long as she could spray Jensen, then Tim would be safe.

"I said to get back!" she ordered as her finger curled around the trigger. "I will spray you if you do not get back!"

A rasping command came from the darkness above her, "Take care of the boy."

Even as a relief so profound swamped her, threatened to send her to her knees in a sniveling, groveling mess, a dark figure swooped between her and the convicts. There was the satisfying sound of a fist meeting flesh, a grunt, and then Jensen fell.

Raya grabbed hold of Tim at the same moment Batman fastened an arm around her waist. She felt him reach for something beneath his cape, knew he had gone for the grapnel gun attached to his utility belt.

There was a _schwoo_ and then they were air born, cutting through the choking mist, shooting past a brick wall, over a parapet, and onto a roof. Raya knew as soon as her feet hit solid ground that she should let him go. There were rules to obey, appearances to keep up, and secrets to protect.

She just couldn't bring herself to do it. Not when Batman was the most solid thing for her to hold onto at that moment. Her breath came out as a tattered rasp and her body trembled with a combination of the lingering effects of the fear toxin and fatigue. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the faint smell of his aftershave and finding comfort in it.

"You're safe now," he said in that achingly familiar rumble she knew as _Batman's_. "He can't hurt you... _either_ of you, anymore."

She opened her mouth to answer him, to let him know she was fine, the toxin hadn't broken her psychologically, but no sound save for a small squeak came forth. She tried to force her arm to unwind from around his neck, told herself she needed to let him go, there were innocent people who needed Batman more than she did, but her arm simply refused to heed her command. She just couldn't bring herself to be rational. Not when nothing, _nothing_ had ever felt as good to her as the solid rock wall she was clinging to for dear life.

 _And why should she be logical?_ she asked herself as she felt his hand stroke her damp curls. She was still just a kid. She didn't have to be selfless. She could take for herself, be a little greedy, put what she needed ahead of what someone else needed. Even as she thought it, she felt those sticky fingers of guilt tug and pull at her conscience.

 _I'm fourteen_! she snapped. _It's okay if I worry about me for five freakin' minutes_. Tears welled, fell like rain, and wet the column of his throat. She felt his chest vibrate as he made a low murmur deep in his throat, and felt that hand as it stroked down over the cap of her hair, along the taut line of her back.

"You're safe now," he repeated. "He can't hurt you anymore."

"I know." She secured Tim more firmly on her hip. "In my head, I know that it's over. That we're safe. It's just..."

"Shh," he crooned in that velvet baritone she recognized as _Bruce's_. "Just let it all settle."

…

Robin had been one ball of tension ever since hearing Detective Bullock say the Scarecrow was stalking Raya. That knot didn't ease until he saw she was safely ensconced in Batman's arms. Outwardly, she appeared unharmed. Inwardly? That was an entirely different matter. He had gotten gassed by Scarecrow on more than one occasion.

The visions the toxin brought, the hallucinations it created were powerful, intense. Many had succumbed to the terror that engulfed them after one small, concentrated dose. This mist was a far cry different from the regular fear gas the Scarecrow used on his victims.

The dosage was at least triple its normal amount and delivered over a far more prolonged and continuous period. The fact Raya powered out of the toxin's grip was a testament as much to Batman's training as it was to her determination to protect the boy fastened to her like an octopus.

Still, he knew the ugly things the toxin tended to awaken were still hammering away at her defenses. He took a step forward, intending to set a hand on her back, to let her know he was there and that she wasn't alone but Batman saying his name stopped him.

"Robin."

His eyes met Batman's. He could see the events of the night had taken as hard a toll upon his mentor as it had on him. However, there were still pretenses that needed to be kept up, illusions maintained. Even a child as young as that boy could figure out that there was something unusual about the relationship between Robin and the police commissioners niece.

"Is she okay?" he asked him quietly. "Did-"

"I'm fine, Robin." Raya turned red-rimmed, swollen eyes upon him. "Scarecrow didn't hurt me."

Hollow-eyed and pale, and far from all right, was his opinion. He kept his thoughts to himself, however. The last thing she needed was him poking fun at her. _Well, actually_ …

"Aw, c'mon now, as if this wasn't just another game of Us versus the Gotham City Bad Guys." He flashed a cheeky grin at her. "You should totally be used to how they play ball by now."

"Yeah, well, _you_ could have showed up about five minutes _before_ the psychosexual predator was next player up on deck."

"You had a pinch hitter arrive in time."

"So?"

"So quit complaining."

The little boy upon her hip angled his head around to stare at him. His eyes were like two huge balls dominating the majority of his small, grime coated face. Shock intermingled with awe and played with the fear still swirling in those blue depths.

Seeing what depths the Scarecrow would go to acquire the data he desired, to procure Raya and her grandfather's formula had anger flaring to life. He ordered himself to calm down, told himself that Batman already delivered a dose of antidote to the boy and Raya.

It would have been the first thing he'd have done after getting them to safety.

"So," he said to take his mind off his feelings. "Who is this?"

"This is Timothy." She smoothed a hand over the boy's hair, down along his back. "He was separated from the woman who was watching him."

"How do you know him?"

Raya glanced at Batman. "I met his parents when they attended the New Years Masquerade at Wayne Manor."

"Who are his parents?"

"Janet and Jack Drake."

"Jack Drake?" Surprise tinged his voice. "As in Dr. Jack Drake?"

"Yes."

From the sudden shift in her tone and the set expression on her face, Robin gleaned that Raya had some very strong opinions about Tim's jet set parents. Opinions that were clearly not kind, nor repeatable. Batman must have gotten the same impression he had because he turned to stare out over the city.

Gotham was buried beneath the thick mist still. A high-pitched shriek or low, keening wail sounded every now and again. Robin found he preferred the screams to the silence. Batman climbed onto the parapet.

"Where are you going?"

"To help," he said over his shoulder. "Let's go, Robin."

"There's nothing you can do for the infected people," she told them sadly. "They're trapped in a never-ending nightmare. It's exactly what The Scarecrow hoped to do when he concocted this plan. A city literally trapped in fear."

"And we might not be able to help all those infected," Batman said. "But we can at least prevent them from tearing the city and themselves apart."

Robin got what he was saying. He understood. Batman needed to do whatever he could because he couldn't do what he wanted. It was a matter of helping who you could even while knowing that a large majority of the people were going to suffer. Alfred once told him that there was not always a "happy ending at the end of the night for a crime fighter."

Most often, their nights ended in regrets and recriminations, with deeply seeded traumas and hurts that would never heal.

Before he jumped, Batman turned and told Raya, "Go inside and call Mr. Pennyworth. Have him or Mr. Wayne come and pick you up and take you back to the Wayne Penthouse. And stay there until your uncle is able to get to you."

It was all code. _Call Mr. Pennyworth, have him or Mr. Wayne come get you, have them take you back to the Manor and wait there until Commissioner Gordon can come and take you home_. It was part of the pretense. Part of how Batman and Robin kept their costumed lives a secret. Part of him hated the lying. Sometimes he wished he could rip his mask off and tell everyone that, Richard Grayson, was really Robin. He couldn't do that, though.

Not without compromising Batman's identity.

"What about Tim?" Raya lifted troubled eyes to Batman's. "I can't leave him with GCPS. Not after everything he's been through tonight. He needs somewhere safe and people he can trust."

Batman ran his hand over the cap of her hair. "Mr. Pennyworth and Mr. Wayne will figure out what to do for Tim. Now, go on. Get Tim and you inside the building. And," he added in a firm voice, "don't leave it until one of them shows up, understand?"

"All right." She glanced then at Robin. "Be safe, Robin."

"Hey, it's me, remember? I'm always cautious."

"Just bring Batman home safe."

"Okay, I'll bring Batman home safe." He gave her a playful grin. "But who's gonna bring _me_ home safe? Thinking I need my own sidekick here. Preferably one with green eyes and..."

"Go," she huffed. "Fight crime."

He jumped to the top of the parapet. "You're gonna miss me when I'm gone."

Then he stepped off into darkness.

…

Raya rolled her eyes before watching Robin step off into the darkness. _Birdbrain_ , she thought silently. She glanced down at Tim, who was quiet in her arms.

"Robin's not as cool as you think he is," she said. "He's really kinda a dork."

Tim replied by giving her a heart-melting grin around the thumb he'd stuck in his mouth.

"Uh-huh," was all he said.

Raya just snorted a laugh before crossing over to a roof access door propped open. The inner stairwell was black as pitch. She felt her stomach churn with fresh dread and the fear lingering at the back of her mind. She swallowed her momentary misgivings, shoved back the memories that the neurotoxic mist had awoken inside her, and entered the darkened stairwell.

The building was an older one. It smelled of mold and onions and other, even more, pungent smells she didn't care to think about at that moment. She remained alert as she crept down the stairs. Who knew who or what could be hiding in the shadows?

Several doors along the murky hallway had been left open as the people tried to flee the calamity befalling the city. All but three of the apartments she passed had television sets on. Any minute and the occupants could return to their homes.

Quite a few of them, she suspected, would be fueled by a toxin created terror. The last thing she needed was a confrontation with someone out of their head with fear. Holding Tim tighter, she descended further, all the way to the first floor of the complex. There she found a working payphone that she used to call Alfred.

Tim stopped trembling by the time she hung up, but his eyes were wide in his tiny face and he'd occasionally whimper when there was a scream from one of those afflicted by the mist. Raya settled into a huge armchair in the front foyer to wait for Alfred to arrive and rest her lips against his temple.

He snuggled against her with a tiny sigh that had her lips curving. As they waited, she allowed her mind to wander. At first, she thought about the events of that night, the implications of what all had happened and what it meant for the future. Then she thought about Tim.

Once upon a time, she had been this little boy. She had been the kid afraid of the things that went bump in the night. She was the prey a hungry predator relentlessly stalked. She was the prize he wanted to collect. And just like Tim, she'd been left alone to face that man. Uncle Jim hadn't been there to wipe away her tears or soothe away her fears. He hadn't been able to protect her from the man whose madness had cried out for him to hurt her.

Not even her own mother and father had been there to protect her from Branson's perversions.

No, the man who had chosen to protect her had been one wearing a cape and mask. Batman had no reason, nor any obligation to protect her that night. And yet he'd pitted himself against that man who'd wanted to hurt her, and hurt him instead. Yet, only Raya knew how Batman had done so much more than rescue her that night.

He became so much more than some ordinary hero.

He was so much more than a friend.

He had become the father-figure she was desperately in need of.

Another scream blasted the silence of the night, causing Tim to jump. Raya rubbed his back in slow, soothing circles.

"I've got you, kiddo. So long as you are in my arms, you are safe." She spoke the same words that Batman had spoken to her that night. "So long as you're with me, you're okay. I won't let anything or anyone hurt you."

 _I promise_ , she vowed silently.

…

On the streets below, two apparitions, one cloaked in the colors of the night while the other wore scarlet, daffodil and forest green, burst into the midst of a group of Blackgate escapees, knocking them down as if they were bowling pins. Batman and Robin fought like a well-oiled machine, whirling in synchronized motion, always in perfect step with the other.

It was a testament of how well each knew the other. The convicts tried to rally, they put up the best fight they could, but they were just no match for the Dynamic Duo. Arms were easily snapped, ankles got twisted, and bodies sent flying in a matter of minutes. Soon, all the convicts were left lying face down on the pavement, their wrists and ankles zip-tied together.

Silence descended only for it to get broken by an occasional scream or moan from one of those wallowing in terror. Robin turned to see Batman standing over one fallen inmate with his hands upon his hips. He could tell by the tick in the older man's jaw that it was taking everything he had to keep his vitriolic temper in check. A quick glance told him why.

 _Taylor Jensen_ , he thought as he strolled over. _Repeat sex offender. Has a liking for little boys that were about the age of Timothy Drake. Sexual sadist_.

Men who sexually abused a child was something of a personal trigger for Batman. Any crimes involving children were things that his mentor tended to take personally. However, he also knew that Batman and Raya's lives originally intersected because of a sexual predator who had gone after her when she had been just a couple of years older than Timothy Drake.

For Batman, it was personal. A lingering reminder that filth like this existed in the world and hurting children he couldn't protect.

Well, he could help with taking his mind off that.

"What? No more?" He shot a cheeky grin at his grim partner. "And here I was just starting to have fun." One of the prisoners slowly started to crawl his way out of the alley. "Hey, looks like fugly there hasn't gotten our hint about staying face down on the concrete with his arms behind his back."

Batman booted the man in the head before turning to stalk towards him, his cape fluttering behind him like a pair of greedy, grasping fingers just itching to wrap around a few of the prisoners' throats. The pointy ears of the cowl cast an ominous shadow upon the ground.

However, he saw that those eyes blazed with emotions that the Boy Wonder suspected were akin to the same parental fears clawing away at James Gordon. Yet, Robin also knew that part of the rage simmering within the older hero was out of his feelings of helplessness. There was just no way to save all the people who were out when the mist was released.

Robin could almost guarantee that there would be enough of the antidote after tonight, though. If there was one thing he could always count upon with Batman, it was that he'd rectify a situation like this and make sure that there were plans in place to ensure that it would never happen again.

"What are we going to do?" he asked him slowly, treading cautiously. The last thing he wanted or needed was to get extra Robin homework for asking the wrong question. "I know we don't have enough of the antidote on hand to help the people infected by this toxic mist. But there's something that we can do to help them, right?"

"No, Robin, there isn't anything that we can do to help them," Batman told him in a subdued voice. "As you said, we don't have enough of the antidote on hand to administer to so many people."

"And synthesizing more requires time that we do not have, huh?"

That cowled head nodded. "Yes," he said. Then, "And their exposure has been a prolonged one. For many, the antidote won't fix the damage that has been caused by the toxin's effects."

"You're figuring that prolonged exposure to the toxin has damaged their amygdala, aren't you? And," he continued, "that because of their prolonged exposure they could suffer paranoia-nervous disorders, potential mental breakdowns, psychopathy and other potentially fatal cognitive disorders?"

"I see you've taken learning Cognitive Psychology from Raya much more seriously than when I was trying to teach it to you," Batman remarked dryly.

Robin gave him a lopsided grin. "Well, duh," he joked. "Not only is she adorable when she's being super geeky, but I can wheedle the answers to the quizzes out of her much easier than I can from you."

Batman just shook his head. "I'm going to finish rounding up the convicts," he told him. "You get back to the penthouse and get changed." His lips twitched, just for a second. "I have a feeling that we'll be having a guest staying with us for the next few days."

"Figured that out, too, huh?"

"Mm," was Batman's noncommittal reply. He walked away, going from convict to convict as if he was counting the number of bodies that lined the ground. He crouched at one point, staring at something, but Robin wasn't sure exactly what.

"Why do you think Raya is being so protective of Tim?" He questioned while watching him poke at something. "Is it because he's a kid?"

"It's in her nature to protect children. Especially ones as small as Timothy Drake."

"Do you think this is because he's the first kid she's managed to rescue almost by herself from one of the special crowd of villains we tend to attract?"

Batman glanced over at him, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"There is some part of her that is reacting to being the one who stopped him from being harmed, yes," he said slowly, nodding. "However, I think that it is more because she sees Timothy Drake is like her — a kid who has parents who are more interested in themselves than they are in raising their son. Neglectful parents are as much a trigger for her, Robin, as abusive ones."

Robin sighed. "You might wanna teach her that kids are not like puppies and kittens." His lips twisted into a playful smirk. "And to tell her that she can't adopt every kid that she just happens to rescue from a guy like The Scarecrow."

"She adopted you, chum."

Robin scoffed. "She… " he paused as the truth of those words registered. "Wait, what? Was that… humor?" Robin's mouth dropped open. "Holy moly," he said even as Batman's lips curved with amusement. "Guess I owe Alfred twenty bucks. I told him you didn't have a sense of humor."

Batman harrumphed. "And you now have double Robin homework for the next month for that bit of witticism."

Robin just groaned.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, all! Hope life is being good to you!


	5. The Night Concludes

Gordon slowly took in the destruction all around him. Devastation was what he saw. Simple, absolute, unyielding decimation. Power lines were down, glass and bits of mortar were everywhere, fires still burned in trash cans, and cars left vacant as their owners surrendered to their deepest, darkest fears.

The nearest gutter was clogged with rushing water, leaves and bits of other debris. He assumed the water was coming from the pipes that burst after the Scarecrow detonated his toxin bomb. _Hundreds of pipes and water mains_ , he realized with a sigh. Every one of them a conduit the Scarecrow had been able to use to fill Gotham with his hallucinogenic mist.

If he hadn't known better, he would have thought the city had been hit by a massive storm. Instead, it had been the victim of a calculated attack by a madman in a gas mask. And yet the sky above him was crystal clear. The outline of the moon, visible against the crimson backdrop was big as a flying saucer before it slid the rest of the way into the horizon. The stars looked like little diamonds. They winked at him before fading into slumber.

It was a peaceful end to another hellacious night in Gotham.

 _We're a city of survivors_ , he thought as he reached up to adjust his glasses. _Nothing the monsters of this city does will ever stop us from picking ourselves up, dusting ourselves off and going on with our lives_.

"Long night, Jim?"

Gordon grunted and glanced up to where a dark figure hovered in the shadows between two buildings.

"Shouldn't you be at home?"

"I was helping to round-up the last of the inmates that Scarecrow released." He didn't growl it. No, the Dark Knight just sounded as exhausted as he felt. "It was the only thing I could do to help."

 _So, that's the way of it_ , Gordon thought with a soft sigh. _He's seeing he failed to protect and save the city from Scarecrow's attack_. Well, he'd absolve him of that ridiculous notion right quick.

"I know you are blaming yourself for what happened, for the people who couldn't be saved the effects of Scarecrow's toxin." Gordon took off his glasses and stuck them in a small case he produced from a pocket inside his trench-coat. "Don't. You're not to blame for what happened any more than I am. We did our best with the hand that we were given. And," he added as he slid the case back into his pocket, "it was a crap hand, to begin with."

"Does that make the guilt any less, Jim?"

Gordon had to give him that point.

"No," he admitted. "It doesn't. Nothing will ever make the guilt less. Or make us wonder what we could have done differently."

"We need to have a contingency plan in place for when this sort of situation happens." Batman lifted his head to look at him. "People suffered tonight that needn't have."

"I agree." He nodded. "I absolutely agree that people suffered tonight because we were ill-prepared for an attack on this massive of a scale. What could we do, though? We're not omnipotent." He cast a mildly amused look at him. "Even if one of us tries to act like he is."

Batman didn't smile but there was a slight softening to his mouth. As far as encouragement went, Gordon took it. "We weren't prepared this time," he agreed with a slight nod. "We need to make sure that we are next time."

"How can we prepare for this sort of attack?"

"I will figure out a way."

And with that, he was gone. Gordon found he had no reason to continue standing next to his car. It wasn't like he had waited for word on the Scarecrow's whereabouts. He already knew the psychotic freak had managed to sneak away in the chaos he created.

He, much like the Dark Knight, knew the Scarecrow would return as soon as he had a new batch of that damned toxin of his ready. For now, he was gonna call it a night. He'd go home, call and make sure Barbara was okay, crawl in beside Sarah, and get a few hours of some desperately needed sleep.

…

 _This was all her fault_ , he thought peevishly. If the little brat wouldn't have fought him, if she would have given into her fears like everyone else in this godforsaken city, if she would have given him what he wanted without any qualms, none of this would have happened.

He was supposed to have gotten the girl back to his underground research facility hours ago. He was supposed to have convinced her to turn over all of Dr. Berkeley's research notes on the behavior modifying agent the doctor ridiculously named _Inceptive_. Even now, he should be making his first batch of his new and improved fear toxin.

Instead, he found himself wandering the streets of the city he had taught the meaning of _fear_.

While he wandered, he realized he had a bit of a problem: he didn't know where he was. That little brat's attack had left him completely disoriented. He looked around. The mist obscured all familiar landmarks from view. He had to do something, anything. He chose to continue walking. And while he walked, he planned his vengeance upon the girl who so determinedly thwarted his capture.

The Scarecrow didn't know how long he walked, or where exactly he was even walking too.

He stopped at an intersection. The street to the left was blocked by a series of abandoned cars. A dozen men and women blocked the street on his right. In the dawn's early light, obscured by the thick mist his toxin mist created, Scarecrow could see most were wearing the dingy orange overalls of Blackgate inmates. Others wore torn and muddied clothing. Some stood staring at the sky, others babbled incoherently, and others still sat rocking in the middle of the road.

He stared at the murky road directly in front of him, debating where he should go. _Certainly not Arkham Asylum_. No, the asylum would be crawling with all sorts of activity. _The city morgue_? No. That would be one of the first places that Batman would think to check. His original destination once he had the Berkeley girl in his grasp had been a small warehouse down by Gotham docks.

His... _partner_ had converted the basement of the warehouse to a state of the art research laboratory. That could prove an option still. How to get there without being seen by the police or worse yet, by Batman, could prove especially difficult. However, the mist and legions of infected people would keep them busy for hours.

 _Where to go, where to go_...

He felt a shift deep with himself. Felt _Jonathan_ _Crane_ struggling to rise to the surface and take back control from him. From _him_! That simpering, sniveling, spineless side of himself swelled within him, trying to oust him, to seize control, to send him back into the very shadows from which he had been born. As if he was going to allow that to happen! He had things to do, research results to gather and papers to write! But then he heard that refined little voice say, "return to the lab."

 _Yes, the lab_ , Scarecrow thought, lips stretching wide beneath his mask. Yes, that was perfect! Brilliant even! Nobody would think to look for him in his former lab at Gotham University. They wouldn't believe he would dare to return to the very place he started his research in the phenomenon known as fear. He cackled, long and low, and was about to turn in the direction he presumed the university was when a deep voice came from behind him.

"Doc?" he heard. "Dr. Crane? Is that youse?"

 _No_! he wanted to scream at the voice. _Not Crane_! _Scarecrow_! And yet, there was a part of him that wondered if was he really either one more than the other. Was he the Scarecrow now more than he was Jonathan Crane? Or was he still Jonathan Crane more than he was the Scarecrow?

If he was anything, it was a combination of Jonathan Crane and the Scarecrow. It was quite nice now that he thought about it. Most of the festering cesspool called the human race only possessed one identity. Wasn't it fitting that a superior being such as himself had more than one? Shouldn't a man of his refined taste and intellect not be worlds above the rest?

"Doc?" The voice called again. "Doc, is that youse?"

He pulled off his mask and became Dr. Crane again.

"Yes, I am Dr. Crane," he called back to the speaker. "Is there something I can do for you?"

 _Like, give you a taste of the oblivion found at the end of fear_? He plastered on a pleasant smile as he turned to see a figure walking towards him. He could make out nothing in the fog but for a dark shake. When they were a few feet away, he could see the faded gray jumpsuit and recognized the pudgy face and bald head: he was a former patient named Carson.

"Mr. Carson," he simpered. "How lovely to see you."

"I saw youse walking around in this damn fog and thought I'd check to see if youse was okay," Carson said. "I never got the chance ta properly thank youse for helping me. Youse the only one at the asylum who was ever nice ta me."

 _Was I nice to him?_ Crane wondered. _I can't remember. Not that it matters._

"That is very kind of you to say, Carson."

"Are youse lost, Doc?"

"Terribly," Crane admitted. "You wouldn't happen to know where we are, would you?"

"Sure. We're near the Industrial District."

The Industrial District. That was close to the docks. So, the small warehouse it was. At least, temporarily.

"Can you lead me to the warehouses by the docks?"

"Sure, that's where I'm headed. My brother-in-law has a fishing boat tied up down there. Was gonna use it ta get the hell outta the city."

 _A boat_ , Crane thought. _Now, there is an interesting idea_. Getting out of the city for a while could allow him the time to regroup, to decide what he should do next, and prepare another batch of his toxin. Once he had another batch of his serum he could begin his life's work again.

And get his hands once and for all upon _Inceptive_.

"Mr. Carson," he said. "I have a business proposal for you..."

…

In a bar somewhere down in Gotham's East End, Harvey Bullock was capping off what had been another craptastic night with a double whiskey. Flannigan's was dead, the usual bunch of beatniks and wastrels who littered the place either having gotten themselves gassed by that nutcase, the Scarecrow or passed out in some alley, drunk as skunks. Either way didn't mean a hill of beans to him. No, what mattered to him at that moment was the fact he failed to protect the sprocket from the monster in the dark.

 _Jim gave me one lousy job to do tonight_ , he thought as he stared at the amber liquid at the bottom of his glass. _He asked me to get the sprocket somewhere safe, to get her home before anything crazy happened. And did I do it? Hell's no. I let myself get knocked unconscious by some goon posing as a cop._

Guilt settled like a lead ball in his belly. Over and over he saw again how Scarecrow stretched out a hand towards the sprockets face. Saw her smack that hand away with a vehement snarl. Saw how that sick, twisted monster pressed a button on his machine that turned all of Gotham into one huge ball of fear.

 _My fault_ , he thought as he drained the last of the whiskey from the glass and signaled for another. _The kid got gassed by that freak because I wasn't right there ta stop him_.

"Hey, Bullock." He turned his head and watched Ethan Tate slide onto the stool next to his. "Thought I'd find you here."

"What're you doing here, Tate?"

"Thought you might need some company."

Bullock picked up his drink and took a hefty swallow. "Ain't much for company at the moment, kid."

The bartender, a man named Roark, ambled over to see if Tate wanted anything. The younger man took a moment to order a coffee before he turned to Bullock.

"Wanna talk about it?" he asked. "Getting whatever it is off your chest might help more than whiskey."

The last thing he was gonna do was admit he was a complete failure.

"Ain't nothing, kid," he said as he took another swallow of the smoky brew. "Don't worry about it."

A chipped white cup was set in front of Tate, stopping him from replying. He took a moment to stir his coffee in silence. Finally, he set the spoon aside and looked at Bullock.

"Look, I know you're blaming yourself for what happened to the Commissioners niece. Don't. It wasn't your fault."

"I had one damn job given to me," Bullock gritted. "I was to protect the sprocket. And I didn't do it."

"Did you ever stop to think that what Raya needed the most was to see she could protect herself?"

It was a valid point. The sprocket did need to know that she could protect herself. However...

"She's just a kid." Bullock shot a look at Tate from the corner of his eye. "She ain't old enough to be fighting creeps like the Scarecrow."

"She's the same age as Robin," Tate pointed out. "And he's been fighting the likes of the Joker and the Scarecrow for the last couple of years."

"Robin ain't the Sprocket."

He didn't add that he didn't think the Boy Wonder should be out there and fighting freaks like the Joker anymore than he did the sprocket. His opinion on that was well-known.

"He could be, though." Tate lifted his cup and took a long swallow. "That's the thing. He could be Raya. Or she could be him. And either of them could end up facing someone like the Scarecrow and have no adult there to help them."

"Yeah..."

"And isn't it a comfort to know that she can take care of herself in a situation like that?"

He nodded. "Well, yeah. But..."

"Tonight, I watched something magical happen. Do you know what that was?" Bullock turned to him, arching a brow in silent question. Tate leaned close and said in an emotionally charged whisper, "I watched a girl rise up to fight the monster in the dark. And she won, Harvey. _She_ won."

 _She won_. His sprocket won. She sent the freak packing. She saved herself and the kid who ended up in her care by beating the monsters back into the darkness. Pride surged, chased away the guilt and lingering bits of fear caused by his own exposure to that toxin loaded most.

"She's Jim's kid through and through."

Tate smiled. "I think there's a bit of the bulldog in her, too."

"There's a bit of all of us in the sprocket, kid. We've all had a hand in raising that girl."

 _We made her strong,_ he thought as he finished the last of his whiskey. _We made her a fighter._

…

During his short flight back to the penthouse, he placed a call Lucius Fox and, in his _Bruce Wayne_ voice, issued some instructions. Although it was close to five-thirty in the morning, Fox sounded like he was fully awake.

They spoke for only a few moments, but once Bruce concluded the call, he was comforted knowing that Fox was already in the process of shipping out what antidote they had on hand to the hospitals overflowing with people gassed by Crane and ordering the production of more.

He set the Batplane upon its landing platform in the bunker before he slowly made the transformation from exhausted vigilante to the just-coming-home-from-a-date-playboy he used as his cover. Alfred was waiting, just like always. And he had made tea, a cup of Earl Gray for each of them.

Then he helped Bruce with removing the suit.

Between the two of them, they got it off and put away in one of the cases. Alfred took a moment to check for signs of fresh bruises, scrapes or burns. There were no outward signs of physical injury, which was unusual given the physical nature of his nocturnal career, but it provided the butler with a small bit of relief.

"Uneventful night, sir?" he asked dryly as he set their empty cups back onto the tray. "Or did you take better precautions than usual?"

Bruce glanced over his shoulder at him. "It was not as physically demanding a night as I usually have, no, Alfred."

"Small miracles do happen then."

"Funny."

Bruce moved his arms, legs, rolled his shoulders, stretching sore and stiff muscles. Even though it had not been a physically demanding night, it had still been a very long, emotional draining one.

"Where are Raya and Dick?" he asked as he crossed to the elevator. "And our houseguest?"

"All three are resting comfortably, sir," the older gentleman replied before pressing the button for the penthouse. "They fell asleep about thirty minutes before you arrived home, in fact."

Bruce's lips curved at the corners. "And how did you slip them the Benadryl this time?"

"It was in their hot chocolate."

Bruce swallowed a laugh before asking, "Were you able to track down the housekeeper that Raya says normally takes care of the boy when the Drakes are away on business?"

Alfred nodded. "She is currently recuperating at Gotham General." He looked over at Bruce, his expression grave. "She was given quite a knock on the head but was not infected by the Scarecrow's toxin." He sighed. "Thankfully."

"Were there any problems in getting permission for the boy to stay here with us for the next day or so while the housekeeper recuperates?"

"None, sir," Alfred replied. "Mrs. Mac, in fact, seemed quite satisfied with having Master Timothy stay with us while the police work upon contacting the boy's parents."

"Do they have any idea about where the Drakes are?"

"Detective Bullock did some inquiring and apparently Mr. and Mrs. Drake are on an archaeological dig in South America." Alfred sniffed once, indicating his displeasure. "They left word at Gotham University that they would be out of contact for the next eight weeks or so."

Bruce imagined that piece of information had not gone over well with Raya. His imp had become quite outspoken about things like domestic violence and parental neglect since her mother's death.

She tended to ferret much of her free time between school, gymnastics and her training sessions with him to various organizations and charities that sought to aid those in abusive situations. She had become quite the crusader in the last few months, channeling her rage and grief into helping others who found themselves in situations like her own.

Just like him.

He had supported her in her endeavors, encouraged her even. He even supported her decision to learn more than just basic fighting skills. He, more than Gordon and even Alfred, understood that learning how to defend herself, protect herself from men like her father was something she needed to overcome the abuse she suffered at his hands.

For Raya, it was another step in taking back what her father had stolen from her. Agreeing to train her had come with stipulations, of course.

The first and foremost one being that she was not to go out on patrols with him and Dick.

She would never dawn a mask. Or parade around the city with him. Her talents and skills would be utilized behind the scenes. After the events of that night, though, he wondered if Raya would raise the subject of allowing her to finally go out on patrols. A part of him, the one which he knew was the vigilante, couldn't help but be proud of how she had handled herself that night.

Not only had she overcome the effects of the Scarecrow's toxic mist by sheer will, but she managed to keep Timothy Drake safe until he could get to her.

She had been in danger, more even than what she faced the night of her mother's murder and yet she remained cool and calm, thinking logically and rationally and doing whatever she thought necessary to keep the boy and herself safe. A small tingle of pride surged at the way she handled the Scarecrow.

Using the flare to not only signal her location but to make him run off had been pure genius. A part of him, the one who saw himself as her dad, hoped she wouldn't bring the subject of going on patrols up. Putting her in the field was not something he or Jim Gordon could ever allow.

Not with men like the Scarecrow and the Joker on the loose.

Once the elevator doors opened, he crept over to check the three figures stretched out upon the huge sectional in the middle of the living room. The penthouse may have been swamped in shadows, but he had no trouble navigating the sea of furniture in the pre-dawn light. He looked down at the peacefully slumbering trio and felt the bands around his heart slowly unfurl at the sight that greeted him.

Dick's arm was curved around Raya, who was sleeping with her head cradled on his shoulder, her hand curled upon his chest. The little boy, Timothy, was snuggled between the back of the couch and Dick's other side, his head resting comfortably on the older boy's chest, his thumb in his mouth. It was the sight of their hands, resting upon the boy's back, their fingers interlocked that untied the knots he had been in ever since learning it was the Scarecrow behind everything that happened that evening.

Emotions, raw and rabid, surged at the sight of the simple, warm and affectionate gesture. He knew the two were best friends. They had become close the moment they met, bonding over the losses of their parents, and the changes those deaths brought to their lives. However, this said more than anything how closely bound their relationship was. Dick would walk through fire to keep Raya safe. And he knew she would do the same for him. However, they wouldn't just wade through hell for each other.

They would also do it for the little boy under their care and protection until his housekeeper recovered from her injury. The night had interceded and put Raya at the GCPD so she could save Tim from the Scarecrow. He fully believed that. However, he also saw that the night, in its wisdom had given them something the other lacked: a sibling.

Timothy Drake had no older siblings to look out for him and neither Raya or Dick had a younger brother to dote upon or help buffer the dark days that came from just being a teenager. Alfred must have sensed his thoughts for he cleared his throat before speaking.

"They have rather taken to the boy."

"They've changed so much since they came to us."

"They are not the only ones who have changed in those years," Alfred pointed out. "You have changed as well, sir. You're happier than you were."

Bruce cast a glance over his shoulder at the older man, a wry smile on his lips. "They work hard to keep me from brooding."

"Perhaps you should ask to have Miss Raya move permanently into the Manor with you and Master Richard. Especially now that the Scarecrow has made it clear that he wants Dr. Berkeley's notes on _Inceptive_."

It was a valid point. And something he would consider long and hard before mentioning it to Gordon.

"They've brought joy and light into my world, Alfred. The Manor does not seem the same lonely, sad place when they are there. And my life," he admitted with a faint smile, "doesn't seem so empty now that they are part of it."

"I would say their lives do not seem so empty now that they have you, as well, Master Bruce."

Bruce reached down to tuck a stray curl behind Raya's ear. Skimmed his fingers over Dick's cheek.

"I don't know what I'd do if I lost them."

"I do not think that is something you will ever have to worry about, Master Bruce."

"A father always worries about that, Alfred," he said as he stepped back. "If he's a good father, he always worries about his children. Thomas Wayne taught me that."

 _He taught you much more than that_ , Alfred thought as he followed Master Bruce from the room.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, and goodbye, all!

Hopefully, those of you reading along have enjoyed the journey as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Please, if you liked this story, favorite it! Also, feel free to comment below if you liked the story (or didn't).


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